


dear jane,

by hanwritessolo



Series: The Burden We Share [4]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Heavy Angst, Love Letters, the saga in which sam writes letters in prison continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: A box of notes and letters addressed to an old lover sits unread underneath Sam’s bed.
Relationships: Samuel Drake/Original Character(s), Samuel Drake/Original Female Character(s), Samuel Drake/Reader
Series: The Burden We Share [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1520453
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	dear jane,

February 23, 2001

My dearest Jane,

I’ve been trying to write this letter to you for days. The first thought that ran through my mind the moment I woke up from that god-awful “surgery” was to call you or to write to you, to reach out to you in any way possible, to tell you that I’m alive and I’m still breathing and that my heart still beats only for you (it’s cheesy, I know, but please let me just this once) and yet I couldn’t seem to bring myself to do it. Maybe I was trying to find the courage and the right words. But I suppose there are no right words when it comes to these things.

And well, it’s not like you’re ever going to read this anyway, given how things are, so I’m just going to write every single thing that I wish I could tell you and probably would never get to tell you in this lifetime.

Frankly, I don’t know where else to start except to say I love you and I’m sorry. I am so,  _ so  _ sorry, Jane.

Whenever I think about our last conversation over the phone and your calls that I missed, it kills the shit out of me. I hate that I never got the chance to tell you how much I love you. I never say that enough but I really do love you. Immensely and madly, I love you. And I hate that instead of saying that, I spent that phone call arguing with you about my safety, about us, about this stint.

And you were right. You were right about everything.

I know you will be kind enough not to tell me “I told you so.” You have always been too kind to me, too generous to my faults even when I don’t deserve it. I don’t know how I deserved someone like you. To be loved by you has been my greatest privilege. You’ve been supportive of my endeavors, this gig included, regardless of your reservations and… 

God, you are most likely to hear from Nathan about what happened, and it terrifies me to imagine the thought of you blaming yourself for this. This is not your fault, Jane. I made a choice, and the choice that I should’ve made is to stay. I should’ve stayed for you. For us. Please, please,  _ please…  _ I know you’re strong, Jane, you always have been, but this isn’t your cross you have to bear. Let it be mine to carry. 

Yours,

Samuel 

* * *

April 19, 2002

My dearest Jane,

So today, Ramón saw me looking at your picture and asked me about you. (It’s that picture of you I took in Brighton. Your first “normal birthday weekend” as you put it, remember? I was lucky I found it tucked in my journal.) He’s the nicest guard around here, and we talked about you for a bit. I told him everything I could about you. He asked me if you’re my wife. I told him, no… but I wish you were. (Which is the truth, and I hope you don’t mind me saying that.) Though I also told him that you’re my girlfriend and my best friend and the love of my life. Then he told me that I am a fortunate man to have found you, the half of my soul.

Truth be told, of all people I expected to casually drop poetry, Ramón was definitely the last person on my list. And although I don’t necessarily agree with him that I am a fortunate man considering my circumstances rotting in this prison, I do agree with what he said about you. 

Half of my soul. I liked how he put it. I suppose that’s what you are to me. No — that’s what you really are to me, Jane. Every fiber of my being knows it. And being apart from you for years… it’s more than I can take.  Which is why when I said that I’m going to write every single thing that I wish I could tell you and probably would never get to tell you, I meant it. Every word. And despite me feeling a little silly that I continue writing these letters to you (and even to Nathan and Leti) I promise to keep going because this is the only promise I get to keep this time. To you most especially, Jane. Because this is the closest thing I have talking to you. And I miss talking to you. I miss hearing your voice. I miss the cackle of your laughter. I miss you and everything about you and I love you. I love you so, so much it hurts.

  
  


Always yours,

Samuel

* * *

I miss you. I can’t say it enough. And when I say I miss you, I mean, I ache for you. I miss making love to you. I miss being inside you. I miss the noises that you make, the feel of your soft hands on my chest, your lips on mine. It’s just us and our own universe. No one else will ever make me feel that way about love again. Not like that. Not like you.

* * *

January 7, 2004

My dearest Jane,

I was on library duty today when I saw old art books about Monet’s paintings and Michelangelo and color theory. I was instantly reminded of you. More specifically, I remembered the day we were in Ikea buying stuff for our flat and we had this argument about the many different shades of blue. A goddamn argument about a fucking color palette, for fuck’s sake! It’s hilarious now that I think about it. But I get it now. I get that cerulean is different from teal and turquoise. 

But my favorite shade will always be the blue of your eyes. And my god, how I miss drowning in them.

Still yours,

Samuel

* * *

March 4, 2007

Happy birthday, my love. I’m so glad we met in this life. 

Yours,

Samuel

* * *

I dreamt of you tonight and I woke up crying. It’s stupid, I know. But thing is, you’re the first thought I have in the morning and the last before I go to sleep. And I don’t think that’s ever going to change for me.  But do I still cross your mind? Do you still think of me the same way I think about you? Do you still even remember me at all?

* * *

May 15, 2009

My dearest Jane,

You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted in my life. I know that now. I should have known that sooner. I guess it’s true what they say about me, that I’m an idiot. And if I die today, know that I will die only ever loving you and honestly, that won’t be such a bad way to go.

Yours,

Samuel

* * *

I love you. I love your eyes, your mouth, your smile. I love how your freckles are like specks of stars on your skin. I love how you make me a poet even when I’m not close to being one. I love how you’re shy, but when I turn the volume up on a Bruce Springsteen song, you start to dance even while you make our breakfast. I love how your leg clings to mine when we sleep. I love it when you kiss me. When you hold me. When you run your hands through my hair. When you let me rest my head on your lap as I read your favourite book and you read mine. 

I can go on and on about all the things I love about you because all I’m good at now is remembering. And it’s hard to forget when the only person I’ve ever truly loved is you.

* * *

  
  


I love you. I still love you. I will love you even if you have forgotten about me. I will still keep on loving you even if you no longer do. I will love you today, tomorrow, and the day after the next, and the next ones that come after. And I’m sorry if I cannot bring myself to stop. Lord knows I tried. Lord knows I fucking tried.

* * *

I love Jane but let her be happy let her have the life she deserves I don’t care anymore if she forgets about me or if she no longer remembers my name just let my Jane be happy even if I can no longer call her mine even if her happiness is not with me just please let her be happy please let her open her heart to someone else please let her find love again let her let her let her

* * *

I love you, Jane. What else is there for me to say?


End file.
